


You Sound Like a Song

by Kacka



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-31
Updated: 2016-03-31
Packaged: 2018-05-30 09:58:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,726
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6419269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kacka/pseuds/Kacka
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate gets talked into taking over Bellamy's radio show. He's not great on-air, which sucks because he really wants to impress the cute sound technician.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Sound Like a Song

**Author's Note:**

> First time writing Minty! Hope you enjoy

Nate had assumed that Bellamy taking the week off from their show would mean he got a free week too. Sure, Bellamy is on his honeymoon and Nate isn’t, but Nate also isn’t the on-air half of the duo. Nate is the one who shows up for their two-hour slot five minutes before it starts at 1 a.m., offering up the minimum amount of effort it takes to run the tech stuff for his friend’s radio show.

It’s not like he has much to do at that time of night; he’s a grad student, so he’s pretty used to operating on little to no sleep anyway. It’s just that, in his mind, there’s no reason he should need to go in while Bellamy is gone, except that Bellamy insisted that Nate take over for him for the week, told him it could be his wedding present. ( Nate also got them the Die Hard box set because he likes Clarke and knows none of her fancy relatives will think she registered for it intentionally.)

So he finds himself with five days of his own radio show, and no idea what to do.

He’s heard Bellamy’s show enough that he feels comfortable writing out an introduction to repeat each night. Still, it’s strange to be in the booth by himself, speaking into the microphone, with someone else in his sound booth. He knows it’s not  _ his _ booth, but the stranger is cute, and it’s not helping Nate be any less anxious.

He’s not technically a stranger. His name is Monty Green and he introduced himself to Nate before the show, assuring him that he was in good hands. Nate didn’t want his mind to linger on Monty’s hands, so he’d just nodded and gone over his plan for the show until he was back to being a nervous wreck.

He settles into Bellamy’s chair and when Monty gives him the cue, he clears his throat and starts in on his spiel.

“You’re listening to W-ARK, and, uh, I’m your temporary host, Nate Miller. If you turned this station on expecting Bellamy, I should warn you that I’m not him. He’s got the week off, so dedicated fans can find him back in his usual slot next Monday. In the meantime, he has entrusted his channel to me, by which I mean he told me to ‘do whatever the hell I want.’ I’m not that big on music, but I’ll give out the station number pretty frequently, so, uh– if you’re not into listening to me rant about the Yankees or cuing up spoken-word poetry, you can call in with a request.” 

He catches Monty’s eye and feels himself flushing, which is distracting, so he clears his throat awkwardly and gives the station number, cuing up the first of a handful of songs he knows Bellamy likes to play, and settles back to wait for calls.

For being on so late at night, a surprising number of people tend to call in. Nate figures it’s mostly students at the local university and people who are bored at their night shifts, but he’s not complaining. He’s kind of counting on a few callers, because he definitely didn’t prepare two full hours of content.

Luckily, he does get a few requests. One man calls in requesting, in his words, ‘something epic’ to keep him awake on his drive home. Nate puts on the Star Wars theme music and then argues with the next caller about the new movie until Monty gives him a signal to wrap it up. 

A girl calls in to request a song that helps her study and to ask if he knows anything about molecular biology, which Nate admits he does not, and another woman calls in to request ‘that song with the doo-wops,’ which– Nate has no idea what song she’s talking about, but they chat for a while as he tries to get more specifics, and she doesn’t curse at him when he can’t find it, which is nice, so he calls that one a win anyway.

When the show ends, he packs up slowly, hoping to be able to walk out to the parking lot with the tech guy, but he hasn’t moved to leave at all.

“You heading out?”

“I wish,” Monty says, appearing truly regretful. “I run the syndicated content that goes on all the station’s channels at 3 a.m.” He smiles at Nate like they’re sharing a joke, and Nate really wants it to be true. “I offered to come in a couple hours early while Bellamy is gone, but he was pretty insistent that you wanted the job.”

“Of course he was,” Nate snorts. “And then when I didn’t, he bullied me into it.”

“Yeah, that’s the impression I got after tonight’s show. I think he was afraid if he handed his slot over for a week of vacation, they’d take it away from him and never give it back.” Monty says, his smile widening. 

Nate has to hand it to Bellamy: if he’s good for anything besides being inexplicably comfortable with public speaking, it’s inspiring a general sense of fond exasperation in people. It’s always a bonding experience for Nate, benign jokes at his friend’s expense.

“That sounds about right,” Nate says, feeling a smile pull at his lips. “Was the show tonight a total disaster? Because I’ll happily hand it over if it means I get to sleep instead.”

“It wasn’t a  _ total _ disaster,” Monty says carefully. “It was definitely unusual, but I liked it. It was a nice break from the normal.” He smiles, swift and bright, in a way that makes Nate’s heart clench. “I’ll be here all week, though, so if you get stuck, don’t worry. I’ve got your back.”

“Cool,” Nate says, smiling smaller this time. He never smiles this much. He doesn’t want to give too much away. “That makes me feel better.”

The next night is both an improvement and a letdown. The first night, out of sheer nervousness, he’d so overthought everything he was going to say that he hadn’t had any huge moments of awkwardness. He’s more confident the second night, which is almost better, except that he makes a mess of his introduction and loses for a few minutes his ability to speak like a normal human being. It's a complete train wreck.

When he finally makes the segue to a track, any track (he meant to put on Led Zeppelin, but he’s so flustered he’s not sure if he picked the right one), he drops his head to the desk and takes a moment to collect himself.

“It wasn’t that bad,” Monty says, over the intercom that connects him to the sound booth. He picks his head up and gives Monty his most skeptical glare, which he’s put a lot of work into. “Really,” Monty says, a smile lurking at the corners of his mouth. Nate needs to get it together. “I’ve heard way worse.”

“But it wasn’t good, right?”

Monty shrugs.

“There’s a reason you can do whatever the hell you want. There really aren’t that many people listening right now. Very few witnesses to your humiliation.”

“Gee, I feel so much better,” Nate deadpans, and Monty’s smile has teeth now. 

“You have–” he checks something on the display. “–two minutes and thirty-seven, no, thirty-six seconds, thirty-five, to pull yourself together, thirty-two, and then you’re back on air. Breathe, twenty-nine, and just be yourself. You’ll do great.”

“You’ve got a lot of confidence in me for someone I just met yesterday.”

“I’ve got a good feeling about you. I tend to trust my gut. Eighteen.”

Nate does relax, playing a couple of songs his dad likes, throwing in some poetry from his own collection, and the rest of the show goes much better than the first three minutes. Monty gives him an encouraging thumbs-up as he leaves and says, “See you tomorrow,” which Nate finds himself looking forward to very much.

Night three starts well, but takes an interesting turn when the button on his controls lights up, indicating that he’s got a caller.

“W-ARK, this is Nate speaking.”

“Am I on air?”

“Not yet. We gotta let the song play through first, but then I can put you on, yeah.” He swivels a little in his chair, restless. “Do you have a request?”

“Nothing specific,” the caller says. Nate thinks it’s a girl, but her voice is husky and a little emotional, so it’s hard for him to be sure. “My girlfriend just broke up with me, actually.” He winces and looks instinctively over at Monty, who is listening in on the call. Monty has a sympathetic expression on, which Nate tries to channel as he responds.

“Sorry about that.” He scratches his head. “Did you just want to– talk?”

“No,” the caller says, giving a weak little laugh. “I think she’s on her way home still, and I know she sometimes listens to this station. I was hoping you could put me on–”

“I don’t know,” Nate interrupts as nicely as he can. “I’ve seen this before, and I’m not sure it’s really going to have the effect you want.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’re just taking a lot of chances. Maybe she is listening, maybe she is in the car. Maybe she won’t turn the dial when she hears your voice, maybe you won’t say things in a public forum that you’ll regret later. But it might be more effective for me to either dedicate a song to her and ask her to call you, or for you to just talk to her in a different setting.”

“I don’t know–” the caller hedges. Monty flashes Nate the one minute signal and Nate nods in acknowledgement. 

“Trust me. It’s better that way.” He pauses. “I tried the other way, when my boyfriend and I broke up, and it ended up embarrassing both of us. I was a mess and– You can’t take it back when it’s out there for the world to hear.”

“You’re probably right,” the girl says quietly. There's a pause, in which he's not sure what to say, but then she adds, “Thanks.”

“Just doing my civic duty. You got a song you want me to play?”

“Something sad? And if you could ask Zoe to call Harper?”

“You got it,” Nate says, switching quickly back to air as he pulls up the song he had on repeat after Bryan ended things. “This next one is a request from Harper. Zoe, if you’re listening, this song is for you, and I don’t know your lives, but it sounds like you guys have some stuff to talk about. I hope you work it out.”

The familiar chords start to play. Nate doesn’t generally connect to music, especially not country, but he’d found this song in the wake of his heartbreak, and the whole theme of needing someone now really got to him. It feels like a lot of himself to show a stranger though, so he focuses on his phone instead of looking over at Monty in the booth. After a few seconds, the intercom clicks and Monty says, “Did you just pick this song because it’s a quarter after one?”

Nate laughs and his eyes find Monty’s automatically. He’s studying Nate, but with the same bright interest as normal. It’s disconcerting, to be in the spotlight like this.

“Nah, I’m not that clever. This was my breakup ballad on repeat after things with my ex imploded.”

“How long ago did that happen?”

“Six months?” Nate says, surprised as he thinks back. It feels both farther and more recent.

Monty nods.

“That’s a while, but not so long I think you’re ready to talk about it on air,” he decides. Nate finds himself more amused than offended; he’s healed a lot since Bryan, but Monty met him  _ yesterday _ . Monty shouldn’t just know that.

“You telling me how to run Bellamy’s show?”

“I wouldn’t dare,” Monty grins. “I’m just offering my sage radio wisdom.”

“Thanks for the tip. I was planning to less-than-gracefully transition to a list of dark-humored predictions about what would happen if Trump took office, and then play Billy Joel’s  _ Miami 2017 _ for good measure.”

“Solid plan. I think that follows nicely.”

After the show ends, he sticks his head inside the control room to say goodbye to Monty, whose face has grown serious.

“Everything okay?”

“Look,” he says, a little awkward, “I know that I don’t know you, but… if you ever needed to talk about your breakup or anything, I’ve been told that I’m a pretty good listener.”

Nate exhales, stepping fully into the room and sinking into the spare chair.

“I don’t know what there is to say, really,” he admits. He’s not sure why he’s telling these things to Monty, but he feels comfortable with Monty in a way that he doesn’t usually with people he doesn’t know well. He’s not questioning it too much.  “When my ex ended things, it kind of blindsided me, and I got drunk before the show, and–” he shrugs. “I’m not really one to go on and on about my feelings, or to make public declarations, and that’s probably why Bellamy let me on the air? He didn’t think it was going to go as badly as it did.” He cracks a smile. “I’m honestly a little surprised he wanted me to take over for him this week after all that went down.”

“It’s community radio after midnight. He doesn’t have that much of a fan base for you to alienate."

“Damn,” Nate smiles. “That was my master plan. Anyway, I’m not– completely okay? But I’m better. Than I was. I’m doing alright.”

Monty nods once, settling back in his chair.

“I’m glad,” he says, and Nate thinks he honestly means it. “But the offer stands. If you ever aren’t doing alright, you know where to find me.”

It’s an opportunity, an exit ramp he’s dropped into the conversation, but from the way his eyes are still focused on Nate’s, from the way he’s not fidgeting or reaching for his book, it doesn’t feel like a dismissal. And Nate doesn’t really want to go anywhere.

So he slides his messenger bag off his shoulder and sheds his coat, propping his feet up on the desk. It’s his 'getting comfortable’ stance, the one he settles into at the start of every show on a normal week, and Monty watches with undisguised pleasure.

“You staying?”

“If that’s cool with you. I feel like all you’ve seen of me is my embarrassing moments.”

“That’s not true–”

“You’ve seen me flub a line on air, you’ve heard me rant about Star Wars, you’ve heard me talk about my  _ feelings _ , which is something I never do,” Nate ticks off on his fingers.

“And you want to prove to me that you can be cool?”

“Nah. I think that ship has sailed. I just think it’s your turn to even the score.”

“You want me to tell you my embarrassing stories,” Monty says, dubious despite the upturn of his lips. “I thought you were one of those people who is big on sleeping this time of night.”

“Normally, yes,” Nate concedes. “But preserving my dignity is more important. Besides, I’m up until three most nights anyway. My body kind of lives in its own time zone. How much difference does a couple of hours make?”

As he finds out in his nine a.m. the next day, it makes a huge difference, but when he thinks back to Monty’s face, slightly flushed as his hands flail along to whatever story he was telling, he can’t bring himself to regret staying.

The next night is much the same: Nate rants about the general levels of angst saturating superhero movies these days, which becomes a debate that carries over into Monty’s shift. He learns that Monty himself went through a rough period with his best friend (“Not so much a breakup as a disowning? He was like my brother, and then for a while, he wasn’t.”), that his parents grounded him until his eighteenth birthday after they busted him smoking pot, that a practical joke he and his best friend set up at their high school had unforeseen consequences that got everyone out of class for a week until the building was deemed safe again. He likes Monty, likes his laugh and his stories, likes his enthusiasm and his determination.

The next day is Friday. Nate is supremely glad he doesn’t have any classes and can catch up on his sleep, but supremely bummed that after tonight, he won’t have a built-in excuse to see Monty.

“If you’ve been paying attention this week, you’ll know by now that I’m not Bellamy and that this is the last night you’ll be subjected to my reign of terror,” he says, finally somewhat at ease with his intro. “However, I think it’s only fair to warn you: I’m going out, not with a fizzle, but with a bang. Bellamy told me to do whatever the hell I want, so tonight is going to be two hours of the most ridiculous things I could come up with. You might want to just go ahead and turn your radios off, honestly.”

He begins with a mix of songs: folk tunes his dad made him listen to on car trips, mystic chanting, his poor attempt at a trumpet solo from his middle school band concert, and eight minutes of one of those sleep tracks made entirely of whale sounds. He makes it his personal mission to, over the course of the show, incorporate every sound effect on the Casio keyboard, which makes a lot of what he says sound vaguely more sexual than he intended it to, and he finishes it off with a dramatic reading of The Very Hungry Caterpillar, completely straight-faced, that leaves Monty in tears.

“That was a masterpiece,” Monty says, and the full force of his grin is a lot for Nate to take. “I should have recorded everything, although I’m pretty sure that last bit was twice as funny because I could see your face.”

“I wanted to go where no radio show has gone before,” Nate says, dropping into his chair.

“I think you’re my new favorite host of all time. Not that I had an old one, but even if I had, you’d still have won.”

Monty is more animated tonight than Nate has seen him yet, his gestures bigger, his voice a little louder, his eyes brighter. Almost like he’s working as hard as he can to keep Nate’s interest, like he doesn’t know he already has it. Like maybe Nate isn’t the only one who doesn’t want tonight to be the last night.

They close the station as slowly as possible, lingering in the parking lot to continue talking until the sky begins to lighten with the first signs of dawn. Nate wouldn’t have noticed, except that he can start to make out Monty’s features more clearly, sees how closely they’re standing, thinks that he wouldn’t have to reach far to take Monty’s hand.

“What?” Monty asks, cocking his head, and Nate realizes he’s been staring.

“I’m starving,” he blurts. It’s true, but not his most pressing concern. “You want to go get some breakfast?”

Monty ducks his head.

“Yeah,” he says, suddenly shy. “I’m not really ready to go home yet.”

They drive to the nearest Waffle House in Nate’s car, Monty critiquing the limited selection of songs on his phone as they go. When Nate slides into a booth, his stomach lurches as Monty’s knees brush his under the table, as their feet bump together and Monty doesn’t move his legs away.

It’s an oddly intimate moment, for a Waffle House.

“Do you have plans today?”

“I usually nap until mid-afternoon.”

“Hazards of an overnight job.” Monty hums in agreement.

“Was there a reason you asked?” It sounds like hope in his voice, so Nate takes a chance.

“I thought maybe we could hang out. But I don’t want to deprive you of your sleep,” he adds, nervous. Monty has definitely been sending signals, and Nate has been picking them up, but– it’s been a while. 

“I think napping is something we can do together,” Monty offers, and Nate chokes on his coffee. Monty passes him a napkin, his smile soft. “But if you were just thinking dinner or something, I’ve got to eat later on. Once I wake up.”

“Oh,” Nate says, trying to regain his bearings. 

It’s a little weird that Monty keeps seeing him at his least smooth, and apparently wants to date him anyways. Nate isn’t going to question his luck on this one.

He clears his throat and says, “That sounds good.”

“Which?”

“Both.”

Monty is flat-out grinning now, his knee knocking against Nate’s in the best way.

“Then it’s a date.”

If staying up all night with Monty was great, waking up with him might be even better. He can feel afternoon sunlight beating on his back, uncomfortably warm, but he can also feel Monty’s silky-soft hair and his nose pressed against his neck, and it’s overwhelming.

“I want to open my eyes,” Monty mumbles, startling Nate. He hadn’t thought he was awake, and now he feels creepy for staring. “But I can’t. My brain knows that being awake is going to be awesome, but my body hasn’t caught up yet.”

Nate laughs and kisses behind Monty’s ear, down his neck. 

“Is this helping?”

Monty shivers and pulls away, but only to drag Nate’s lips to his own. It’s a soft, sweet kiss, and Nate is so gone it’s not even funny.

“I’m definitely awake now,” Monty assures him. “But are you offended if I say it’s because I like your voice?”

“My voice?” 

“Yeah. You’ve got a good voice. You should be on the radio.”

“I definitely should not,” Nate laughs. “This past week is proof enough.”

“It wasn’t flawless,” Monty agrees, swatting at Nate when he pinches him. “But I still don’t think it was a disaster.”

“Yeah, what did you call it? Unusual? A nice break from the norm? Not exactly glowing reviews,” Nate teases.

“Fine, so I like disasters.”

“Lucky for me.”

“Yeah,” Monty smiles. “I think it worked out pretty well.”


End file.
